


Comfort Food

by Measured_Words



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Body Horror, Food, Gen, Humor, Menstruation, father-daughter bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 16:38:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9665855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured_Words/pseuds/Measured_Words
Summary: Girl troubles are all the more awkward when you're supposed to be dead.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Longpig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Longpig/gifts).



Hannibal Lecter was calculating and precise. He thought of absolutely every detail. Which is why, when Abigail - supposed to be dead - finally worked up the nerve to mention that she was starting her period, he had an answer ready.

“I already purchased a supply of menstrual products,” he told her, completely unfazed - because of course he wouldn’t be bothered. He told her where they were located in the basement supply cabinets, with the various medical supplies he used to keep his victims in whatever state of living he preferred.

There were a lot of them - and this was a good thing, as all there appeared to be were rows and rows of Always Ultrathins. Abi pulled a face - that wasn’t going to do at all. For one thing, she’d always been a tampax girl. Pad felt gross, all bunched up no matter how thin they were, like you were wearing a diaper. And ultra-thins? No way - on day one of the Red Tides, she might go through one of those an hour. It could look worse than one of Hannibal’s goriest crime scenes down there.

But despite their closeness, she felt awkward bringing it up again, or having to correct his perceptions. She knew he’d had to deal with women before, but maybe they’d all been luckier than her in the Shark Week department. But it made her feel special, too, like she had some kind of secret knowledge. And that gave her an idea.

“Hannibal,” she told him later, putting on her most fearless face, “I need something else. For my periods.”

He looked at her across the dinner table and tilted his head, looking at her in that way that laid all her secrets bare. Well, not this time. She smiled. He nodded.

“Let me know what you need, Abigail, and I will make arrangements.” Complicated ones, no doubt, to disguise even the slightest chance of it being traced back to him.

“No.” 

“If we are going to be a family, Abigail, you need to trust me.” His tone was conciliatory, but she knew this could be a dangerous topic.

“I do trust you. And I want that - to be a family. But it’s my body. I want to be in control of it.”

The look again - Abi thought she might break. But finally he relented.

“A woman must have her mysteries, I suppose. And this could be useful for you, too.”

He let her have a pre-loaded debit card and a fake account delivered to a PO box, so she could order what she needed from Amazon - no doubt he would keep track of it very closely, but it still felt nice to have a little bit of trust and autonomy while she stayed hidden away from the rest of the world, waiting for their family to be whole.

With all the extra layers of caution and security, by the time her package came, the supply downstairs had been decimated. Abi wondered whether she could convince Hannibal that whoever had come up with the deceptive blue liquid used in all the pad commercials had earned a place in his rude-o-dex. It was just one box: she’d done her research, and decided that the best option for a girl living in hiding was a reusable menstrual cup. Her father - her first father - probably would have approved of her conscientiousness. 

But that was only step one. Step two came the next day, when she surprised Hannibal with dinner when he came home.

“What is it?” he asked, sitting down and allowing himself to be served, for once. If he had any apprehensions, he hid them well, showing only fatherly pride.

“Czernina,” she answered, hoping she wasn’t blushing.

Hannibal’s grin widened. “Ahh, Polish blood soup. Very clever, Abi. It smells delicious.”

She sat down across from him in front of her own bowl, beaming. “Well, my father always taught me to use all parts of the animal.”


End file.
